“Mister Nolocontendere, after a thorough examination of your abdomen – an examination quite frankly so advanced we used medical equipment we don’t even have a name for, yet – I have come to the conclusion that your liver is failing.”
“My liver?”
“That’s right. You are a 53 year-old man with a 93 year-old liver. In all my years in medicine, I’ve never seen a liver that old, and I have had 93 year-old patients. Frankly, I’m planning on entering your liver into The Grey Book of World Records.”
“My liver.”
“Indeed. I’d like to book you for surgery right away.”
“For a liver transplant?”
“For a heart transplant.”
“A heart transplant?”
“A heart transplant.”
“Didn’t you say the problem was my liver?”
“The problem is absolutely your liver. It’s producing enough poison to kill a small Armenian village. If you want to live past sunset, you really need to get that looked after.”
“My liver?”
“Damn right, your liver.”
“Perhaps I heard you wrong, then. You recommend a liver transplant?”
“I recommend a heart transplant.”
“A heart transplant?”
“A heart transplant.”
“Is there something wrong with my heart, too?”
“Not that I noticed, no. I would say you have the heart of a 13 year-old in a 53 year-old’s body.”
“You really like pushing that time analogy thing, don’t you?”
“It’s a very useful metaphor, yes.”
“So, if I understand you correctly, my liver is about to kill me while there is nothing wrong with my heart.”
“That’s right.”
“But, you’re recommending that I have a heart transplant.”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“Well, that’s a complicated medical decision involving many factors…”
“Can you explain some of them?”
“Uhh…if you insist. You see, the greens fees at my golf course are going up again – they’ve practically doubled in the past five years! And, even with the Bush tax cuts, I’m having difficulty affording the taxes on my condo in New York – not to mention the taxes on my house in London! – so, okay, let’s forget I mentioned them – and, you know, the cost of oil is making it damned expensive to drive my SUV –”
“Uhh, doctor?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I did say that it was a complicated medical decision involving many factors.”
“I don’t understand what your expenses have to do with my diagnosis.”
“Ah. I see. Well, let me approach the problem from a different angle. As you know, I work for the Sweeney Todd Health Maintenance Organization. You may not know it, but profits were down last year, partially owing to the high cost of debt maintenance, partly owing to a year that had an unusual amount of…good health among our patients. In order to maintain our historically high rate of return to our investors, we’ve had to cut costs, but it hasn’t been enough. As a result, shares of the corporation have dropped substantially. Since a lot of my wealth is tied up in Sweeney Todd stock, my liquidity has taken a serious beating.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“That’s because you didn’t go to medical school.”
“Medical school?”
“Those diplomas on my office wall? They’re not in crayon for a reason.”
“What does your…liquidity have to do with my heart?”
“Okay, let me make this as simple as I can. Heart surgery has a higher profit margin than liver surgery.”
“A higher profit margin.”
“And, a heart transplant? That’s the jackpot!”
“You’re concerned about your profit margin?”
“In my position, wouldn’t you be?”
“But –”
“Look. If I perform enough high-performing operations, the bottom line of the company will improve. If the bottom line of the company improves, my bottom line improves. My SUV isn’t going to fuel itself, you know.”
“So, I’m going to have a heart transplant operation.”
“That’s my opinion, yes.”
“And, soon after, I’ll die of liver failure.”
“But, you’ll have a brand new heart.”
“THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THE HEART I ALREADY HAVE!”
“Well, that will change if you don’t do something about your stress lev – where are you going?”
“To get a second opinion.”
“It’s your right. Sigh. Mrs. Pynchon?”
“Yes, Dr. Skuldouger?”
“Send in the next patient.”
“The one with the cold?”
“Sure. I know just the thing to cure him…”